


Fight

by twentyfourshreds



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Crying, Gen, I didn't mean for it to end up like this oops, Implied/Referenced Abuse, fight, literally no dialogue, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 04:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13756629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentyfourshreds/pseuds/twentyfourshreds
Summary: Morty fights back.





	Fight

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to flex my description skills in this one, so there's no dialogue. On top of that, I wanted to see how things could pan out if Morty really started to push back against Rick's influence. (Which also took a rather dark look at their relationship in a more abusive stance...)

He is not the kind of person to fight. He doesn't find the use in it; what he actually finds it, is terrifying. Therefore, he tries to avoid any confrontation under the crushing fear that it could develop into a fight.

However, under the most severe circumstances the option to fight is the only-- or even in the rarest cases best-- action to take. Unless he has been pushed into the act, through incitement, which he has experienced, and has determined that that is the most terrifying ordeal he has ever had the displease to live through.

He looked at the crumpled body at his feet, the groaning man clutching his face. There was blood on his hands as he shook. He took a faltering step back, then another, and one more before he tripped over some tool that was strewn about on the ground and he landed on his ass, hard. A grunt forced it's way up through his chest, and the man looked up at him.

Dread settled in his chest, as he met eyes with the man. Frozen in fear the teen watched as he took his hand away from his face, his nose now even more crooked than before and the beginnings of swelling and bruising started to bloom under his skin. He watched as the man pushed himself up and stood to his full height. He looked down at the young man, rage seething in every inch of his body, his face cast in shadow. He was a six-foot-four tower of ire that loomed and finally lurched towards him. 

Something clicked in his brain and he began to scrabble backwards. His voice wouldn't work as he desperately wanted to say something, and he realised too late that he had backed himself up against the wall and the workbench. He felt panic rise, and began to curl up, sandwiched between the wall and the figure towering over him. The young man realised he was beginning to cry, and as hard as he tried through everything else he couldn't control it. And with the tears, came the words.

Apologies and explanations fell from his mouth, the words catching on his teeth in stutters, his mouth trembled as he spoke. He tried to explain his actions, but his mind couldn't form anything coherent, anything other than watery apologies and half-words. The man was silent, even as he kept babbling, tears blinding him.

The figure glowered down at him and then he softened. Incrementally the man's shoulders lost tension, the hard lines of his face began to relax, and form into an intense concern. 

The teen didn't notice, however. His tears still blinding, his body curled in on itself. His mouth still spilling out fragmented sentences and apologies.

The man sighed, and stooped. He gripped the corner of the workbench as one knee landed heavily on the ground in front of the weeping mess of a teen, he ignored the ache that shot through his leg. The man reached out gently cupping the back of his head, pulling him to his chest.

He felt fear shoot through him, as he heard the thunk of something in front of him and the fear flooded his limbs as a hand rested against the back of his head. He had really done himself in and he braced himself for pain as the man pressed his face into his bony chest, instead of striking him.

Shocked, his tears turned to quiet gasps of air, his eyes were screwed shut, as his shoulders shook out his tears. He felt the man shift above him, an arm hovered above his head as he felt the man's hand try to sooth his emotions.

The teen was pushed away from his chest, one of the man's hands grasped onto something that hummed by his ear as the knuckles propped him up. Downcast eyes were glued to the grains in concrete as he sniffed, the ugly sound of mucus shifting accompanied by shaky breaths.

The man was talking now, getting the attention of the blubbering mess in front of him. The sound of his gravelly voice, stumbling and jumping over the ideas in his head, pulled the teens attention into listening. The man was trying to convince him, trying to egg on the young man into going with him. The teen however, saw through the words the man used, empty promises and vauge expressions of time and simplicity that filled the space between them.

The concrete floor anchored him, and he furrowed his brow, the anger from before bubbling up in his throat, expressing the feeling in a simple negation.

The man incredulously responded with more bargaining, once more turned down. The teen stood, eyes still on the ground, now taller than the man, and searched his face. He saw the man was calculating another rebuttal, and as he opened his mouth to persuade the young man he was cut short.

The young man looked him in the eyes, blotchy face serious and dispirited. Clearly and slowly he rejected the offers proposed.

The teen turned, moving from the corner between the wall, the workbench and the man in front of him. He began to walk to the door, his journey halted by a hand that grasped onto his wrist. He pulled his arm up and away from the dry and cold hand wrapped around his arm. He kept shuffling over to the door, emptiness settling in his body. His ears rang in the silence.

The man watched him leave, watched as the door was shut softly behind him, and for once, in a very long time, was speechless.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
